


Crowned Shame

by HiddenEye



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Past Violence, Post-War, War Criminal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-30 12:32:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12108798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenEye/pseuds/HiddenEye
Summary: He must have seen her indignation, and has the audacity to let the corner of his lips stretch into a wry smile. “Basking isn’t something you'd do.”He knows his worth even when he's lost, and she isn’t going to take the bait.“I expected some mutual respect from one royalty to another,” she says instead, her hands hanging at her sides. “But, it seems there's none left.”





	Crowned Shame

**Author's Note:**

> Look, it'd be really interesting if Allura and Lotor met later on. I mean, they could talk about their dads and how good friends they once were and be bitter about it. They'll hate each other for it too.

The lights are the same, luminescent and glowing by the walls; representing memories, sighing wistfully at the times of simple pleasure. Such hallways lingers with tinkling laughter of comrades and loved ones; of the promises they’ve entrusted the castle to keep, all hidden underneath the smell of bleach they've used to wipe the dusts away. Allura thinks she can still feel bodies brushing against her shoulders as she walks. Warm and solid. A reassurance of how she isn’t alone.

It's always the second turn on the right. And then, the elevators would wait for you by the end of your journey, doors opening with an air of high respect for its master, wanting to bring you to your destination. When Allura steps in, she stands in front of the doors; almost expectant, her habits of folding her hands in front of her doesn’t cease even if it has been thousands of years.

_Representation_ _is what keeps them on their toes._ Her mother says; her bright eyes fierce with the knowledge of a queen, a lioness protecting her cub. _They will see you as calm as the breeze, and yet they wouldn't know the storm you would create._

The paladins of Voltron tucks away their war criminal at the bottom floor.

A droid is what greets her first. As tall as the training gladiator which rests at the training deck, with warm turquoise eyes and sleek exterior of an armour; silver with streaks of pink aligning its wrists, neck, waist, ankles, cheeks, the sides of its head; an honour for their fallen warriors.

“Your Highness,” Ester greets with a murmur, the tilt in its tone suggesting female. Allura walks in step with the droid, both figures graceful among the large room. “He wakes.”

“Does he?” Allura has been hoping he would. The scanner reads her identification, and she withdraws her hand when the doors slides open quietly. “Did he eat?”

“He refuses to,” Ester answers, a hint of disapproval underlying her tone. A sentient being has emotions after all. “His blatant refusal for food exceeds any other needs, and I mourn for such waste whenever it needs to be thrown away.”

“Have you changed the meal?” Allura asks. Out of necessity on her part; she can't get rid the type of procedure that’s been embedded in her system; a memory muscle more than anything. And while she doesn't care less if he starves himself to death, she prefers if he doesn't die while being in her care. “Other tastes? Or has he demanded something we can’t retrieve?”

“He keeps asking for you, princess.”

"So I’ve been informed.” She rests her palm onto another screen to let the castle recognize her. The doors opened with almost a flourish, and they step into another room, showing them another door. “Did he say why?”

Ester shakes her head. “No, Your Highness.”

The implications his request holds makes her purse her lips briefly, and the current room they’re in holds bright lights for her to see every corner while they walk towards the last door. Allura levels herself to the scanner by the side of it, letting a flash of blue light capture the planes of her face. A holographic keypad appears just as she straightens up, and it takes a few numbers for her to type in serial number before the opaque wall blinks out.

Two years worth of war with the Exiled Prince had been cut into an end when Keith spared him enough mercy to only run his sword through his arm; not his heart, nor the face as Lotor merely snarls at how he should have just been killed. He loses conscious when Shiro swings a fist at his mouth - the same type of raw brutality only an exhausted man would have, before they drag their prisoner back to the castle.

It has been a bloody victory, one that will be remembered throughout the universe for the next part of the future.

There's a quiet hum that fills in the expense of the air as the invisible barrier separates both parties from each other. It stands rigidly in the middle of the large room, a wall that allows them to see each other but not initiate contact; a surprise attack that could happen, an attempted escape. And Allura sets her eyes on the Galra sitting on the floor of his cell.

His usual grace is absent from the last time she sees him. There's no pride in the way he sprawls on the floor with his head resting on the edge of his cot, tilted to the lowlights of his room. His white hair is a mess of tangled knots, the untied tunic he wears exposes the bandage wrapped around his chest, sweat glistening down the length of his neck.

It would appear as if he suffers from nightmares, but the pace of his breathing could be considered as otherwise - if his eyes hasn't been staring up the ceiling with a blank look occupying those depths.

He doesn't move at her presence, as if he rather let himself remain in the pit he dug for himself.

Allura let her eyes focus on the transparent door, having faith in how it will hold in her prisoner if he tries to scrap the last of his wounded dignity and makes a break for it. After the castle’s needed maintenance, their security have broadened while having their facilities updated to the latest model, making it harder for anyone to give a direct hit.

She reassures herself with this - internally reviewing every nook and corner of the castle that would accidentally be their downfall, all while going through the systems in her mind, when the slightest shift of movement causes her to snap her eyes towards it.

It feels as if a cold boulder drops to her toes at how he directs the same sharp look to her way, a palm cradling his chin from where he perches his elbow into his thigh. His hair falls to the side, exposing the length of his neck while having most of his arm obscured from it. It's almost a posture of boredom, one that shouldn't have irk her so much when she already knows the way he patronizes his enemies.

He scrutinizes her, as if she is the one trapped in a room like a feral animal.

The winds have not topple her from her pillar of strength, the waters dared not swallow her with its gaping maws, not when she claws her way up with thunder in her veins. He no longer has the right play with her like strings of dolls, not when his hands are cut with her own sword.

He must have seen her indignation, and has the audacity to let the corner of his lips stretch into a wry smile. “Basking isn’t something you'd do.”

He knows his worth even when he's lost, and she isn’t going to take the bait.

“I expected some mutual respect from one royalty to another,” she says instead, her hands hanging at her sides. “But, it seems there's none left.”

“I’ve been ripped off, as you see.” He gestures to the cell with a lazy sweep of his hand, indicating the lack of furniture other than the bed given to him, his tray of food and drink waiting on the floor beside him. “When a guest is deprived of proper chambers, the master of the house is _expected_ to be seen lowly as well.”

He’s furious, of course. And he uses its fire by merely insulting her.

It's half-hearted as it gets. He does this to preserve what he has left of himself.

“And childish temper suits you, Prince Lotor.” She responds evenly, picking on the way he keeps his expression to himself; as calm as the sand that passes through her fingers, silky and unstoppable. “I wouldn't have it any other way when it comes to you.”

“Only because you're several decaphoebes older than me, I suppose?” Lotor mocks, the same hand holding his face now cards through his hair, allowing her to properly see the stretch of scar near his brow - and the blood that once gushed relentlessly on her armour now dries into a scab. “Or is it because of my heritage you're so peeved of?”

“You dishonour your own people,” she says tersely, the first lick of anger dragged under her sternum. “Your dishonour your authority.”

“I used my authority to nurture my people's capabilities,” he corrects her with another long drag of his fingers through his hair, those long fingernails used as a pathetic excuse of a comb. “You can't always follow those frigid rules of law, Princess Allura. When we grow, it is to reach what’s been offered around you in the vast space of matter; not suffer in a box of pressure and expectancies.”

“Growing doesn’t involve hurting other people and taking their homes from them,” she points out; diplomatically, she faintly realises. But, when faced with snapping teeth, there's nothing she can do but not raise her voice. “There are so many ways in doing it, and yet, you chose to uproot a whole reality to match your ideal ‘perfection.’”

“Our cousins from the other reality would have been interested in my proposal,” he sighs, bringing his hair to one shoulder. “We could learn a bit or two about peace and stability from them, since their Empress knew what should be done when faced with hardship.”

Allura knows the Empress only shares her name, and she doesn't want anything to do with what the other Altean has started in the time of their success; shameful acts of slave labour and mind control, twisting the meaning of peace into something much more darker than she would have wanted for her world. The hoktril operation would have been in Lotor’s hands if Voltron haven’t stopped him in time, and the rift between realities would break wider under his - and she would suspect - Fala’s command, allowing more people to bow under their will.

She isn’t the Empress; and if she would have to be, she wishes not to be one that cruel.

“If this is your idea of calling me down here to redeem yourself,” Allura drones out, tempering down the flames of her anger. “you need to rethink your strategy.”

The short burst of bitter laughter doesn’t justify the blaze of his topaz eyes, its sharp edges threatening to slice her thoroughly. “I have no intent of begging forgiveness after your little soldiers killed all of my generals.” There's no remorse in his being as he stands from his position, and Allura feels her muscles tightens in reflex as she warily eyes the prince. “As shameful as it is to lose such talent, what I’m more interested is what are you planning to do with me.”

Her jaw locks together when he walks slowly towards the door, not allowing himself to appear weak even as he hobbles towards her without holding onto his injured arm. She watches quietly at how he stops just in front of the screen, and the close proximity allows the scars on his face to stand out.

_Representation._

She schools her expression impassively. “You will be escorted to Arus in eighty vargas, where every leader of this reality would witness your execution in public under Luxite blade. Your remains would be cremated and buried along with the rest of the Galra royal family -”

She should have suspected he wouldn't like with what they have laid out for him; he would embrace death with open arms if that's the case, but to mention his heritage in the mix of his last wishes would be considered as offensive on his behalf.

Because the waves of the impact still crackles in the air between them as she flickers her gaze towards his palm, fingers spread on the door from where he shows his dissatisfaction with a slam of his hand.

“Chop my head off all you want,” he growls, lips curling against his canines. “But _never_ put me in the same space as my _father._ ”

“Would you rather have your remains scattered with your mother’s?” She questions with a lash of her tongue; unmerciful. “We’ve found her body in your father’s bed, making a mess of his sheets with all the quintessence she drowned herself in. We suspected she was trying to save Zarkon when she went overdosed with greed.”

“Oh, please,” he sneers in disgust. “She's better off where she is. In fact, toss Zarkon’s body on the other side of the bed, both of them would be thrilled in seeing each other again.”

He feels nothing for them as much as he feels nothing for his fate. Such hate forces Allura to swallow the bile threatening to spill from her throat, where her pity would be very much unappreciated.

Everyone has different expectations in families, and yet, the thought of someone not loved by his own parents makes it sadder all the same. They have been much more occupied in things other than their son, and retaliation, Lotor hates them with all fibre of his being.

She doesn't break eye contact as he speaks the next of his words in a musing matter; thoughtful and surprisingly, curious. A flick of emotions that would give one whiplash. “How do you think it would have been if our species have not been involved in this tedious war?”

She wonders about it sometimes, of how their people would live in harmony until the very day they stood. Everything would be as it should be back when Altea and Dabazaal float around each other in camaraderie, where their King and Emperor have and always been in good friendship.

Sometimes, she blames the comet for landing on Dabazaal. Others are when Zarkon had been too weak to withstand its temptation.

But, what happens have always been fate to decide.

“We would have been arranged to be married off,” she flinches out of her frustration when he continues, and the self-satisfaction in his smirk makes her glare at him. “Hand-in-hand, Altea and Dabazaal would have been the strongest allies to ever grace the universe. No one would dare attack our borders, and our children would have been just as spectacular.”

“Careful, Lotor,” she warns, narrowing her eyes at him. “You’re manifesting delusions in your self-pitying state.”

“All the more sweeter the death, wouldn't it?”

“Only you would say that.” She takes a step back, and the space is enough for her to breathe a bit from being drilled under his gaze, where she is already beginning to type onto the keypad. “I expect your food to be eaten after this, you made Ester unhappy by wasting.”

“The droid fretted if I didn't,” he directs his look towards where Ester stands five feet behind her, annoyance hanging onto his expression. “It gained me headaches just listening to her blabbering about the consequences of not taking full meals each day.”

“If it makes your day merrier, she actually worries about our distinctive guest.” Allura drags her attention to him again, finger now hovering over the last button to be pushed in before a solid wall would block their sights from each other. “Not when none of us couldn’t be bothered.”

“I'll make sure to give my thanks on my last day, then.” He leans against the glass with his good arm above his head, staring her down. “Since manners is something we've been taught with since young.” His head tilts to the side. “You paladins should have just killed me in the battlefield. It would save me from this torture of waiting.”

Maybe.

But, the words of her allies still rings in her ears, where all of them have been on the map for vargas to no end in thinking of strategies, and it isn’t until one of the generals pipe up and say that their leader wants to see the Galran Prince die in front of their own eyes after what he and Zarkon has done. That declaration earns itself some agreements around the table; it’s the only type of concrete confirmation of how the ten-thousand-year-old war wouldn’t repeat itself in the future.

_Justice will be served_ , so they cry. _No more war, no more blood spilled. Their debt will be paid._

There's no way of knowing that concrete confirmation wouldn’t even stop hunger for power in an individual.

“It helps you deal with your guilt.”

He smiles hollowly. “I’m not guilty of making the universe a better place.”

She clenches her teeth, and without another word, stabs into the button until the opaque wall blinks back in.

Some people cannot be reason with, especially if they're kneeling at death's door.

Turning around, Allura walks past Ester and towards the other door. “Leave him be if he doesn’t want to eat. I’ve tried persuading him on your behalf, but he prefers starving himself on his last hours.”

There's a small pause that almost makes her glance at the droid, but Ester hums in agreement. “Very well, Your Highness. Thank you for your help.”

Allura thinks she’s achieved nothing on that visit.


End file.
